


Six Stages of Stiles

by rufflefeather



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-14 17:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufflefeather/pseuds/rufflefeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m not surprised,” Derek huffs. It’s not even with exertion, it’s just out of annoyance which is his default setting since the anger one passed. Stiles calls it his Six Stages of Stiles: Anger, Annoyance, Bargaining (for him to go away), Acceptance (because he never does), Like and Love. He’s not found anyone who has reached the final stage yet, not counting his dad because he’s got no choice, apart from maybe Scott. But Stiles is an optimistic guy, he fears for his life on a weekly basis and still wants to get up in the morning, so yeah. One day there will be love. And sex marathons. Hopefully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Stages of Stiles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alby_mangroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/gifts).



> Happy birthday Alby! You amazing creature. Consider this your gift and a way to lure you further into the Teen Wolf fandom *dangles candy*. I hope you have a wonderful day. I LOVE YOU <3
> 
> (This is written in a bit of a rush and unbeta'd, so apologies for that!)

Okay, yeah, so maybe eating a gigantic bag of Cheetos while functioning as a weight on Derek’s back during his daily marathon of push-ups is asking for it. Stiles wouldn’t know really, the only marathons he takes part in involve televisions, MMORPG’s or sleep. Stiles hopes to include a sex marathon in there one day –– that’s exercise right? –– but so far, no luck. 

“I’m not surprised,” Derek huffs. It’s not even with exertion, it’s just out of annoyance which is his default setting since the anger one passed. Stiles calls it his Six Stages of Stiles: Anger, Annoyance, Bargaining (for him to go away), Acceptance (because he never does), Like and Love. He’s not found anyone who has reached the final stage yet, not counting his dad because he’s got no choice, apart from maybe Scott. But Stiles is an optimistic guy, he fears for his life on a weekly basis and still wants to get up in the morning, so yeah. One day there will be love. And sex marathons. Hopefully.

“Jesus christ,” Derek says beneath him, never stopping his push-ups. Stiles is beginning to feel a bit sea-sick. That might be the Cheetos though. “Do you even realize you’re talking out loud?”

“Sure,” Stiles lies. Oops. 

“Why don’t you do some push-ups, that’ll shut you up,” Derek says. His back’s starting to feel a bit wet, but he’s still not even breathing hard.

“Me?” Stiles demands, flopping his Cheeto-free hand around even though Derek can’t see it. “With this body? Like I need it. You on the other hand,” Stiles pauses a minute to suck the orange yummy goodness off his fingers, “ should do an extra hundred today. I think you’re going a bit pudgy around the middle, my man.” 

Stiles squawks when the world tilts. His bag goes flying and then he’s on the floor, Derek braced on his hands, looming over him. Huh, maybe he’s not out of the anger stage yet. Stiles grins his most charming grin because that always works. 

“I do not look pudgy,” Derek says.

“Nope, no pudginess,” Stiles says, poking a finger at Derek’s abs, because he can and he’s feeling bold. His finger folds double against the six –– eight –– twelve? pack. “I’m just saying the tendency might be there? Oh my _god_ no need to go all red-eyed, I am _joking_ okay? Jesus, you give Jackson a run for his money and that’s saying something.” 

Derek’s right in his face, as if he’s halfway through another push-up, opening his mouth to say something but ends up wrinkling his nose. “You stink.” 

“I smell _delicious_ ,” Stiles says, sucking the last of the cheese off his cheeto-fingers. “Now are you going to do more push-ups or do I need to sit on you again.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, just straightens his arms and comes back down again, nearly nose to nose with Stiles. He stays there for a second and then is gone again. 

He keeps doing it, over and over, and for the life of him, Stiles can’t look away. To be honest, it’s becoming a bit uncomfortable, with the green eyes that at times look blue zeroing in on him as Derek pushes up and down, sometimes coming so close his nose brushes Stiles’. He should probably think about getting away, sidling out from under Derek before his werenose sniffs him out. Stiles has been pretty good with keeping his ridiculous Derek boner under the radar because he figures Derek is used to him being fidgety and a bit nervous. So it’s been easy to focus on that whenever Derek does something ridiculous like push Stiles out of the way of danger, (or take off his shirt, but Stiles likes to think he’s not shallow. On the other hand, he’d challenge _anyone_ not to get a boner when Derek takes off his shirt). 

Strangely enough, being around him more has made it better. Stiles read somewhere you get used to anything (apart from pain, apparently. There’s no getting used to pain,) if you’re exposed to it long enough. Even Derek’s muscles.

Until he’s looming over you looking ravishable, like sex in sweatpants. _And nothing else,_ Stiles’ mind supplies really unhelpfully. He squeezes his lips together and waits, wide-eyed, just to make sure all that didn’t come out in a stream of subconscious babble as well. Derek just keeps looking at him, not even all that scowly, so maybe he’s lucky.

“You still thinking about that sex-marathon?” Derek ask on his way down.

Maybe not so lucky.

“Um, yes,” Stiles says like it’s a question. Derek stills, elbows at a ninety degree angle and he doesn’t even tremble a bit. He just looks at Stiles.

“With that Lydia girl?”

Stiles thinks about that, doesn’t realize it’s a trick question until Derek begins to smile, slow and wicked, like that day he drove off with Erica. 

Uh-oh.

“So tell me,” Derek says, low, careful. Stiles feels like a rabbit in a wolf’s line of sight. “Who _are_ you thinking of, because,” Derek comes down from his push-up, keeps going a bit lower than he has so far and draws a line along Stiles’ neck with his nose, “you smell … _interesting_.” He eases off again, just a bit, just enough to look Stiles in the eye. “Or should I say interested.”

“I–– there’s no, um…” Stiles tries to scoot away by pushing with his heels and his elbows, but Derek isn’t giving him much room, drops down further, in fact, when he sees what Stiles is doing.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Derek asks him. His voice has completely changed pitch and he’s got Stiles boxed in with his elbows and knees.

“Derek,” Stiles, yeah okay, he squeaks. He squeaks because Derek is putting the Cheshire cat to shame with that grin.

“Stiles,” Derek says, undeniably amused. He’s so close Stiles can feel the word rumble against his chest. “I am not a cat.”

“No, I get that, I’m just really unsure of what you’re doing, oh my god, are you _licking my neck_?” Stiles presses his palms very hard against the cold concrete beneath him, feels the uneven grains dig into his palms, because the urge to grab onto Derek is overwhelming. He has no idea what’s allowed here though, what is going on even. “Derek?”

“Hmm,” Derek hums, mouthing at Stiles jaw.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles says, and his voice has gone very small. He’s squeezing his eyes closed and he can’t even care.

“What is it?” Derek asks him, easing off his weight a bit. 

“I’ve never–– any of this.”

“Look at me,” Derek tells him. It’s a command. Not of the alpha wolf kind, or maybe a little, but it’s something else too. Something that makes Stiles want to _obey_. So he does. “Never done anything at all?” Derek goes on when Stiles opens his eyes.

He shakes his head.

Derek’s eyes go dark like melting chocolate. “But you want to.” It’s not a question, exactly, but he’s looking for confirmation anyway. Stiles can feel the rumble against his chest again when he bites his lip and nods. Derek hooks a hand under Stiles’ thigh and lifts it, slots himself easily between Stiles’ legs and just lets Stiles take his weight. It’s closer than he’s ever been to anyone before and Stiles makes a slightly embarrassing noise. He can feel the heat of Derek, the hardness of him. It makes him go boneless and his head cracks against the concrete. 

“Ow,” he says and Derek winces, cradles Stiles’ skull in his palm and lifts Stiles against him. It’s not quite a hug, but it’s not quite anything else either. 

“You hurt?” Derek asks, and his voice has gone back to normal, minus the usual gruffness, maybe. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Stiles says quickly because he’d quite liked where this had been going. He dares to put his hands on Derek’s naked back and cling to him a little, tries to drag him back down, which obviously doesn’t work. Derek’s looking at him when Stiles glances up.

“You deserve better than this,” Derek says, so quietly Stiles only hears it because Derek’s face is less than two inches from his own. And that’s nice, it’s really nice, and Stiles is going to think about that later, but right now he’d really like to feel Derek move against him again.

“It’s okay,” he tells Derek. He doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants, but isn’t willing to not get it either. “We can do better next time. I mean, there will be a next time, won’t there? With, with, kissing maybe? And a, uh, bed. And other things. Right? This isn’t, um––” He stops there because maybe to Derek that is exactly what it is.

“Would you want it to be more?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, so fast it makes him blush. Derek smirks at him, but Stiles can tell it’s to hide a smile. A real one, like maybe Derek hasn’t smiled in a long time. Stiles hasn’t seen it before, anyway. Maybe no one alive today has. He heads off that kind of thinking, because the last thing he wants Derek to pick up from him now is sadness. “Yeah,” Stiles says again. He’s still going red, can feel it heat his skin all the way to his collarbones but in for dime and all that. He shifts his leg out of Derek’s hand, hooks it over Derek’s thigh and dares to slip his fingertips just below his waistband.

“I’m not going to fuck you until you’re eighteen,” Derek says, lowering his weight. Stiles laughs, high and panicky.

“Dude, we haven’t even kissed yet,” he says, his voice breaking a bit on the word ‘kissed’. Derek stiffens above him, and it occurs to Stiles Derek might not have any idea how to do this either. That a minute ago it was just a bit of fun, a bit of a challenge, and suddenly it’s not, anymore. “But that’s okay. Right?” Stiles goes on quickly. “I mean, we’ll get there. It’s just, yeah, we don’t need to, we can just.” He can feel his chest constricting, like there’s a panic attack in his future. He feels _so much_ and he can’t make sense out of most of it. For some reason that makes Derek relax, and he begins to nose Stiles’ jaw again.

“I would’ve kissed you by now,” Derek says, and that hint of a smile is back in his voice, “but you absolutely _reek_ of fake cheese.”

“Ah, shit,” Stiles says, clapping a hand in front of his mouth. “I’m so sorry.” Damn, he’s _mortified_. Make sure your breath doesn’t smell, is like, kissing rule #1 and here he is stinking of freaking cheesy feet or something. 

“Stiles, it’s okay,” Derek says. He sounds a bit guilty so he must be picking up on how Stiles is feeling but Stiles can’t look him in the eye. Derek huffs and then moves, comes back crunching on Cheetos and wiping his hand on Stiles’ jeans.

“Hey,” Stiles complains, but he’s laughing because he feels giddy. He’s about to be kissed by Derek Hale and it’ll taste of Cheetos.

“You’ve been wiping your hands on your jeans anyway,” Derek tells him, and he’s back between Stiles legs. He’s heavy. It’s comforting. Derek maneuvers his hands underneath Stiles’ head, cups it so he’s not lying on the concrete and then they’re kissing. Just like that. No bells and whistles. Just a warm mouth against his. Slightly chapped, dry lips that pull away after a few seconds. It’s not until they’re gone that Stiles feels it, really. The aftermath, the ghost of a touch on his mouth. He wants it back, follows, reaches up for Derek blindly because his eyes are still closed. Derek makes a small noise and then he’s back, this time with lips that are wet. 

The world spins around again. Somehow Stiles resurfaces from the kiss straddling Derek while Derek’s hands are kneading at his sides, clutching and releasing his hoodie. “Okay?” Derek asks and Stiles blinks his eyes open, goes a bit cross-eyed because Derek’s so close. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says, looking at Derek’s mouth. It’s parted and his bottom lip looks so plush, Stiles wants to bite it. He squirms a bit when he leans down again because Derek’s fingers are on his bare sides and it tickles. It makes him bite Derek’s mouth a bit harder than he means to and suddenly Derek’s hands are on his hips, grinding him down.

“Fuck,” Stiles groans, eyes rolling back in his head. His hands are like claws digging into Derek’s shoulders, but even though his fingers are cramping up, he can’t let go. He feels Derek’s dick, hard and hot under his sweatpants, pressing against his ass.

“Too much?” Derek asks. He’s holding very still but his eyes are on Stiles’ mouth. 

Stiles shakes his head, says, “Do that again,” and then Derek’s hand is on the back of his head, pulling him down, while the other one holds Stiles’ hips in place as he grinds up. Derek’s tongue is in his mouth so Stiles sucks on it because he doesn’t quite know what else to do with it. It makes Derek _moan_ , a noise Stiles has never heard before, not even in porn and he’s seen a lot of that. So he does it again, harder this time, lets Derek go when he breaks off the kiss. 

“Stiles,” he says, head thrown back on the concrete floor, looking like he’s fighting off the change or something.

“Oh shit, don’t go all growly,” Stiles says, tensing up. 

“I’m not,” Derek says through clenched teeth, “that’s not––” He doesn’t go on, but he looks like he’s struggling against _something_.

“Oh wow,” Stiles mumbles, awed. “Were you––,” he looks down at Derek, finally lets go of his shoulders, leaving red marks that are already fading. He touches Derek’s chest a bit, just because he can. And because he can’t look Derek in the eye when he says, “Were you gonna come?”

Derek laughs, an actual real honest to god laugh, and he pulls Stiles down in the hottest hug he’s ever had. “Do you ever stop talking, you brat,” Derek says, and Stiles laughs with him, because he’s messing this up so badly. And it really doesn’t matter.

It’s like Derek can feel that shift, that Stiles is giving up on trying to make this into something it should be rather than what it is. He kisses Stiles’ neck, drags his teeth across that big tendon which makes Stiles body nearly convulse, he shudders so hard. “Yeah,” Derek says, wrapping one arm around Stiles’ middle and manhandling him so Stiles lies between his legs. With one hand he unbuttons Stiles’ jeans, and okay yeah, Stiles is so on board with that.

“Oh my fuck,” he says, when Derek pushes his boxers down and looks between them. “You too. You too Derek, you too, come on.” He knows he sounds desperate but it feels like he’s going to lose it just from Derek looking at him. When Derek doesn’t move, Stiles braces himself on the concrete with one hand, and takes hold of the the waist of Derek’s sweatpants with the other. 

His hand is shaking really badly and he’s breathing like he’s actually in a marathon. Stiles feels he can be excused this time, because his dick is lying wet and heavy in the groove of Derek’s hip, leaking precome like it’s about to go out of fashion. Derek is very still, his hands on Stiles’ shoulders, the lack of sound from him even indicates he’s not breathing. It’s sort of confirmed when Stiles manages to tug down his sweatpants (no underwear, he was right), and Stiles touches his uncut cock with the reverence of a worshipper at an altar. Derek’s breath whooshes out of his lungs all on one go, making him curl up, his stomach muscles bulging. It makes Stiles flail inwardly, because he doesn’t know where to touch first. He wants it all, and he wants it now. 

The arm taking his weight is practically vibrating with effort, so he lowers himself down, mouths at Derek’s nipple because it’s there, and then _oh_ , his dick is touching Derek’s, and Derek is hanging on to him for dear life.

“Stop teasing me,” Derek says in his ear, putting a finger underneath Stiles’ chin. Stiles wants to say he’s not, or doesn’t mean to. He just never read the manual for spontaneous makeouts with grumpy alphas who only just passed Stage 2 of Stiles when he’s being kissed again. Thoroughly. With lots of tongue and this time it’s his being sucked. He makes a truly mortifying noise and his hips do this stuttered movement his brain has nothing to do with, but apparently that doesn’t matter. Derek’s fully on board. He’s so on board in fact, there’s suddenly a hand wrapped around Stiles’ dick, pressing it hot and close against Derek’s. It’s so overwhelming Stiles has to break the kiss but that’s okay too, because Derek’s saying, “Come on,” and guiding Stiles’ hips in these small, jerky motions that push him into Derek’s fist. It’s wet from more than just Stiles by now, and that thought is so unbearably hot, Stiles wants to say, ‘I’m sorry,’ and ‘this is going to be over embarrassingly soon,’ but all he can do is gasp. Once, twice and then his eyes fly up. He takes in Derek’s face, eager and open and ready for Stiles coming all over him, like he’s been waiting, wanting to see him like that. Stiles is shuddering all over, feels muscles tightening he didn’t even know existed. 

“Oh my god,” he says, collapsing against Derek, breathing into his throat. Derek lets go of him, and in a moment of bravery, or afterglow, or fucking gratitude because Derek just gave him his first non-solitary orgasm, he doesn’t care what the reason is, all that matters is he’s doing it. He’s wrapping his hand over Derek’s, squeezes hard and absolutely _relishes_ the look that puts on Derek’s face. He glances down between them, lifting his hips so he can have a better view. The sight of Derek’s cock popping in and out of their joined fists is delicious and obscene, and Stiles slips his thumb underneath Derek’s foreskin, lifts his eyes at the delightful sound that brings out of Derek. He can’t take his eyes away from Derek’s face after that, wants the way Derek’s neck arches as he starts to orgasm etched on the back of his eyelids till the day he dies. 

It takes Derek forever to come down and Stiles uses the opportunity to shamelessly hug him, because he’s just had sex, oh my _god_.

“If you dare text Scott you just had sex, I will kill your phone,” Derek says.

“With you teeth?” Stiles asks, trying and failing to surreptitiously push his phone back into his backpocket. Derek doesn’t say anything, but Stiles is pretty sure there’s an eyeroll. 

He looks up from where he’s lying on Derek’s chest. He’s not smiling or anything like that, but he looks... softer, somehow. 

“You okay?” Stiles asks.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” 

Stiles feels Derek’s thumb brush the nape of his neck, he’s totally being petted. Post-coital affection is totally a thing he’s done now. Well, without the actual coital part, but whatever. Details. 

“I’m good,” Stiles says and he can’t stop the grin, just like Derek can’t seem to respond to it. 

“Good,” Derek says, gripping his neck a bit tighter and giving him a little shake. He pulls Stiles closer, holding him in place with a warm arm over his back. He should’ve knows Derek would be a cuddler. 

Wolves, man.

“So does that mean you’ve skipped a few of the Stages of Stiles?”

“If I kiss you, will you shut up?”

“That’s bargaining.”

“I know.” Derek grins. Stiles tries to scowl but that’s sort of hard to do when he sees Derek’s eyelids flutter closed right before his mouth is on Stiles.

_I call bullshit,_ Stiles wants to say. _You’re at least Stage 4,_ but when he sucks in the breath needed for that, Derek takes the opportunity of his open mouth to slip his tongue inside, and, well, maybe Stiles can just … for the moment … _oh_. Shut up. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [(Podfic of) Three Teen Wolf Stories by Rufflefeather](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1546709) by [chemm80](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemm80/pseuds/chemm80)




End file.
